Devils, Monsters and the Little, Old Box
by jjscriptease
Summary: Hwoarang and Steve, a couple of no-good, thug mercenaries, have their pitiful lives turn even more pitiful when they get mixed up with seemingly innocent schoolgirls.
1. Breaking and Entering

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Tekken and stand to gain no profit from this fic

**A/N: **Rated M for Violence, Profanity and Sexual Themes.

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**Devils, Monsters and the Little, Old Box**

_j.j. scriptease_

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Chapter 1 – Breaking And Entering

Hwoarang parked in an undisclosed location then turned off the engine. Steve jumped out of the passenger seat and made sure they were alone. With no one prying over their shoulders, they opened the car trunk.

The inconspicuous package puzzled them both. There was nothing extraordinary about its appearance, yet standing in its sights roused a sense of wonder, mystic, maybe even power. Hwoarang never believed in that spiritual mumbo-jumbo, voodoo crap. None of that magic shit. The box just gave him the creeps, pure and simple. Looking at it now, that might've been the reason no one else bothered to take on this mission. Oh well. Here they were. The instructions were clear. No opening, no tampering, no gazing, no fucking around. Hell, they weren't even allowed to touch it beyond what was necessary for transportation. Step one: retrieve the creepazoid box from a gang of chainsaw murderers, clear. Step two: move said creepazoid box to aptly named 'Point B', underway. Hwoarang slammed the trunk shut.

A lot of people hated their boss, but it was a _little_ understandable when they happened to be a remorseless murderer. Needless to say, failed assignments ended in a different kind of termination. The pressure boiled Hwoarang's nerves. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, blasting his horn for the fuck of it.

"Would you calm the hell down?" said Steve, hoping to prevent a full-scale honking war. Osaka was the last place you wanted to be stuck in one of those. "We don't need to be attracting any unwanted attention. Keep a cool head, mate."

"Don't tell me to calm down right now, okay? If we don't deliver this stupid package to this stupid address in this stupid stuck-up town within the next two hours, then guess what? We're not gonna have any heads left to keep cool! Do you get that, huh?"

"Well I have a suggestion. How about next time you don't fucking get us lost? You stupid git."

"Man, shut the fuck up!" Hwoarang groaned. "At least I'm trying to get us out of this shit. All you do is bitch like a little bitch. Fuck you and your stupid accent. British my ass. More like Bitchish."

"Oh you're a clever boy, aren't cha? Fucking wanker." Steve began to fiddle with the car controls, but Hwoarang told him not to bother. No GPS was installed. When Steve berated him for it, the flame-haired driver simply stated 'stealers can't be choosers'. It was so fucked up Steve didn't even know where to begin. He rummaged through the glove compartment, hoping to stumble upon a physical map. Old crumpled papers, broken CDs and empty cigarette boxes littered the space. Not a map in sight, or anything that didn't belong in the garbage for that matter. Curious, Steve extracted a bag full of badges and handcuffs. "Uh, what are you doing with all these?"

"Trophies," said Hwoarang. Run-ins with authorities came as often as breakfast for a punk like him. He took pride in his rebellion against a corrupt system that kissed rich asses and shat on everyone else. Hell, like it was his fault he was born an orphan without a penny to his name. All those people in their cosy houses and expensive fur never knew what it meant to live in the real world, to wake up every morning not knowing if you'd scrape a bite before the sun went down. So when cops tried to deny him his hard-earned spoils, he had more than a few things to say about it, and his feet were quite the conversationalists. "I didn't learn taekwondo to bend over for those cocksuckers."

"I hear you, mate. You almost have as many badges in here as I got world titles." Hwoarang rolled his eyes. Steve added, "I'm just saying."

"Fox, as much as I'd just love to argue about who the better fighter is for the millionth, freaking time, one of us has to figure out where the fuck we oughtta be going." Something had warned him accepting the job would be a bad idea. He never frequented these parts of the city, hated how all the big-for-nothing skyscrapers looked alike, hated how the stench of corporate snobs clogged his windpipes, hated how no one sat down and chilled the fuck out for a second. Yet, when management handed down the brief, he jumped at the opportunity, figuring he'd bite the bullet and get the job done for a much needed buck. 'Drop this off at this address', simple enough, what could go wrong, right?

_The Company_, as they called it, was another dog-eat-dog world; if you didn't take a job, you could bet your ass there would be a hundred guys behind you fighting for it. In the beginning, Hwoarang found it weird working for a corporation without a name and a boss without a face, but hey, money was money. And The Boss loved his money more than anyone else – there was a reason you never heard from guys who screwed up a mission ever again. Hwoarang wiped the sweat from his brow, checking his wristwatch. One hour, forty-seven minutes left. Still time, he tried to convince himself, still time. He brandished his cigarette box – empty – and hurled it at the windscreen. "Fuck! I need my smokes, man. You know how stressed I get without my smokes!"

"The hell you yelling at me for? I look like a fag vending machine over here?"

"No, Fox, you just look like a fag." He pulled over to the side of the road.

"Now what are you doing?"

"I'm taking a piss. Is that okay with you, 'mate'? Wanna come hold my cock for me, huh?" Hwoarang grabbed his crotch in a vulgar manner. "Wanna know how it feels like to have one, is that right?"

"Piss off," said Steve. "And try not to get lost again on your way to the ladies room, plonker."

Hwoarang flashed a middle finger as he walked towards the closest bush. He whipped out his tool and admired himself. Relief flowed out his lips as he watered the plants with his own special formula. No matter how bad your day was going, a good piss could transport you right back to heaven. He thought he'd heard a shout but dismissed it as paranoia. Then it happened again. Creeping into the bushes, and peering through the hedge intertwined in wired fencing, Hwoarang spotted something that enlarged his eyes twofold. He rushed back to Steve without zipping up his pants.

"You gotta come see this!"

"Fuck sake," said Steve. "Don't touch me with your pee-pee hands."

"Dude, I'm serious, you gotta... 'pee-pee hands'…?" Hwoarang shook his head. "Whatever man, just get your ass out here, quick!"

"This better not be another one of your –"

"You really think I'd fuck around in the middle of a job if it wasn't important?"

Steve couldn't argue with that.

Hwoarang led him back to the bushes and revealed what he'd spotted earlier. Steve gawked, astounded. "Fuck me…"

An all-out catfight was in progress at the back of a nearby high school. Whatever the two girls had to settle, they'd decided to do it whilst no one else was around. It wasn't your run of the mill hair-pulling, eye-scratching skirmish either; these girls executed punches, kicks and grapples only trained martial artists could perform. Definitely skilled, despite the age range suggested by their school uniforms. One boasted blonde locks that flowed beautifully down her back, and trimmed bangs tidying a cute, porcelain face. The flexibility of a gymnast, the elegance of a ballerina, the prowess of a fighter – all rolled into her lithe frame. How sexy was that? She wore a white, long-sleeved dress and matching boots, revealing a set of slender, creamy legs that made you wonder where and how they ended. Her competitor was no slouch either. The brunette had shoulder length hair and wore an intense expression, both frightening and mesmerising to the peeping toms. A blue, plaid skirt barely covered her rear, showcasing every last bit of her well-toned legs. She was slightly bigger than the other girl and flaunted a more athletic frame. But, without a doubt, her most prominent assets lied in her northern hemisphere – her yellow sweater vest outlined a pair of glorious jugs. Hwoarang struggled to stare and breathe at the same time. Talk about shitting on the flat-chested-Japanese-girls stereotype.

"I spy with my little eye something that begins with 'I need to bust me some frigging nuts!'" Hwoarang hollered, scratching his crotch. "Goddamn. Check out the Ganryus on the brunette."

Steve gaped. "Holy Bosconovitch –"

"Dude, mind your language."

"Fuckin' hell, mate. What are they? Double Gs?"

"Fuck the alphabet. Those are some alpha-tits, bro."

The action glued Hwoarang and Steve in position. Hwoarang's gape hovered around the hems of their skirts, stalking, waiting, anticipating every high kick and frothing at the panty shots to come. The blonde showed glimpses of sky blue, and the brunette, pearly white. Amazing the effect a piece of cloth had on his cognisance. The girls could care less how all the hustle and bustle reworked their panties into lopsided thongs, revealing cheeky bits of flesh with every unintended flash. Excitement had grown in Hwoarang's eyes, but that wasn't the only place. His hand descended on its own accord, and as his fingers dipped below the beltline, an elbow to the ribs knocked him back to his senses.

"Are you mental?" Steve hissed. "You can't do that here, bloody tosser."

Hwoarang groaned, embarrassed. "You don't get it, man. It's been weeks."

"I don't give a shit. Only time a man chokes the chicken in front of me is if it's an actual chicken."

"Fuck it." Hwoarang started climbing the fence before Steve yanked him back down.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, cuntface?"

"To screw the living daily lights out of those broads? Duh. You coming? Or you just gonna sit around like a fag?"

"What have you got against fags, faggot? Need I remind you, we've got a job to do. We don't have time to run around chasing our cocks."

"But, Steve…" Calling his partner by the first name usually signified something serious. "C'mon… just look at them…"

Steve hazarded a glance and wound up hypnotized by the brunette's bouncy chest. "Bird's got some tits on her, I'll give her that." Truth was, he wouldn't have minded getting a load off any less than his red-blooded partner. Women were a weakness they shared. Furthermore, Hwoarang never functioned well under stress, and only two things could alleviate his state of mind – unfortunately, he was fresh out of cigarettes. Steve convinced himself it was a legitimate reason to pursue the excursion. Technically speaking, they had an hour to spare, long enough to snag these birds and get back on track fully focused. All they needed was a plan –climbing over the fence all gung-ho would only scare their pray.

"I got an idea." Hwoarang lit up. "Quick! Follow me to the ride." As usual, the redhead dragged him along without bothering to elaborate.

…

Sweaty and swore, Asuka panted as the fight reached a standstill. Her opponent maintained a safe distance, showing her fatigue. Neither was willing to stop however, not until the other was knocked unconscious, which was fine by Asuka. The stuck-up, little brat had worn on her nerves for too long. Emilie Rochefort thought the world owed her everything but the high school was Asuka's jurisdiction and the blonde princess couldn't take that. If there was one compliment due to her, it would be the tenacity to put her money where her mouth was. She wasn't as precious as she looked, matching Asuka stride for stride, blow for blow, stubbornness for stubbornness. She gave it a good run, and that was all it would be – a good run. Balling her fists, Asuka expected to end it with the next attack. Lili readied herself. Asuka charged, bawling a war cry, and Lili set off to meet her halfway. The girls rushed head-on to an explosive finale. The closer they drew, the faster the heartbeats, the fiercer the glares, the louder the screams. Closer and closer and –

"Freeze!"

Both stopped in their tracks, shoes skidding across the court. Asuka's heart leapt, fearing a teacher had caught them again. She couldn't afford to be suspended this close to the end of the semester. To her relief, she didn't recognize either of the gatecrashers. The blond man wore red trousers and a loose shirt and the man besides him was clad in jeans and chops, his crimson hair slicked back and spiky like a porcupine. What an odd looking pair of human beings. She wondered where they'd come from and what business they had at the school; they appeared out of place, too old to be students and way too young to be parents. The redhead flashed his badge upside-down before his partner nudged him to correct it. The blond man pulled up his shirt, revealing a badge clipped to his waist and a holster on the other side. Of course they had to be the one thing worse than teachers. Cops.

Asuka bore no long-standing issues with the police. A vigilante of sorts, she often found herself on their side, even worked with them on one occasion. But things felt different on the other side of the badge, a fear of having broken some obscure law and not understanding the severity to be handed down. Hopefully nothing major. She liked to think the cops had more serious matters to attend to than breaking up petty classroom squabbles. The look on Lili's face was a consolation: she turned whiter than a ghost, petrified, lips trembling without a word. Asuka had to look away to avoid breaking into laughter.

The brunette sucked at being sweet and charming like most girls but she tried her best smile. "Can I help you officers?"

"Uh, yes. I'm officer Brock Hardy," said the redhead. "And this is my partner here, Steve Cox."

The blond shot him a quizzical side glare. "That's right… Look, we're going to have to ask you two to come with us."

Asuka fretted. "Could I ask what for, officers?"

They glanced at each other uncertainly. The blond finally piped up. "Er, for public displays of violence and, er, disturbing the peace."

"What? Did someone complain?" Asuka looked around, wondering what douche would've alerted the cops.

"Listen, girl," said Hardy. "We ask all the questions around here, got it?"

Girl? Asuka huffed. The badge saved him from a severe tongue lashing. The exchange dragged on, depreciating her tolerance for the pair. Something about them put her off; their attitude, their demeanour… their attire. What kind of officers wore red pants and flight goggles? Scratch that, who on Earth wore red pants and flight goggles? "Nice uniforms."

"We're not on duty, smarty pants," said Cox.

"Then why are you here?"

"Coz we spotted a disturbance," said Hardy.

They needed look no further than the mirror to spot a disturbance, thought Asuka. "Is stalking school girls part of standard procedure?"

The redhead flared up. "What did you say?"

"I said –"

"Asuka," Lili suddenly interrupted. "Let us do as they please. Defiance will only make matters worse."

Cox nodded. "There's a smart kid."

They had jokes. Asuka identified with Lili's urge for a speedy, uneventful process. The trouble was she didn't share Lili's patience or naivety. Asuka attributed her fighting success to trusting her instincts. It was a tactic she carried over to all aspects of her life. And her instincts screamed not to trust these two goofs. On the off chance they turned out to be real officers, albeit incompetent to a fault, she offered some cooperation.

The officers directed them to a beaten up sedan that looked nothing like a police vehicle. A waning paint job, rimless tires, dents, scratches, cracked windscreen, and were those bullet holes she could see? She shuddered to think what defects lied under the hood. It was on its final wheels, nothing close to being roadworthy. Quizzing them about the car tempted her but she bit her tongue. They'd probably claim it was an undercover vehicle or something anyway.

The men ordered them to put their hands on deck. Lili glanced at her nervously as Cox patted her down.

"State your full name, please," said the officer.

"E-Emilie Rochefort…"

Asuka had Porcupine Head, the repulsive one. Just great. He started at her shoulders, forcing her to cringe.

His breath assaulted her ear. "And what's your name, girl?" He reeked of cigarette smoke and gasoline, a concoction that upset her stomach.

"Asuka Kazama," she answered quickly, paranoid his stink would invade her mouth.

"Asuka, huh? Pretty name for a pretty girl." Ugh, was this supposed to be comforting? It revolted her. She was pretty sure his compliment fell far from professionalism. He felt uncomfortably close as he patted her upper arms. "Tell me, Asuka. What's a pretty dame like you getting mixed up in ugly catfights for?" None of your business. Just shut up and do your job, she thought, reserving the right to remain silent. "Quiet type, huh?" He sounded disappointed. "That's alright. Got any weapons on you, girl?" Of course not, she shook her head, and of course he wouldn't leave it at that. "I'm gonna go ahead and confirm it then. Hold still."

He checked her armpits then patted down her sides. As stomach-churning as it was, she let him get on with it, tried to respect the process. However, he read too far into her leniency when his hands ventured onto her bosom. She asked what he was doing, to which he claimed it was a favourite hiding spot for female suspects in the past, and he had to be thorough. Asuka didn't like it although it wasn't hard to believe that might've been true. She swallowed her pride and let him continue. Apparently a few gentle pats weren't sufficient to locate smuggled items; he resorted to groping her sweater, squeezing her mounds in suspicious ways. A little too thorough for her liking. She could've sworn she heard a purr. Was the sicko getting off on this? She felt so dirty and violated.

Leaving her chest in peace, he rested his hands on her waist. "Spread your legs," he murmured.

"What?" Why did that sound so much dirtier than he meant?

"Spread your legs," he repeated. "Or I'll spread them for you." Asuka complied timidly, but he wasn't satisfied. "Wider." She exhaled, losing her patience, but obeyed nonetheless.

His weight disappeared from her back as he knelt and started at her ankles. He seemed to squeeze her socks for hours, reluctant to move on. There were only so many places she could smuggle things in her shoes; why was it taking him so long? Then, as Asuka stared at her hands and reflection on the car's hood, she suddenly grew conscious of the length of her skirt. A cold drift swept by, grazing the back of her thighs, fluttering the high hem. All he had to do was look up and a sick grin would spread across his mug. Paranoid, she pressed a hand on the back of her skirt, flattening it against her bum, diminishing any vantage he might've exploited.

"Hands on deck," he said, disturbingly irate. The frisk continued. He pinched the flesh on her calves with varying intensity, studying the texture rather than searching for anything. A chill climbed into her throat as he slithered past her knees and squeezed her bare thighs. What the hell? Did he think she was smuggling a bomb inside her skin? Incredulously, his 'search' continued. Asuka shivered at the touch invading her skirt. The bastard groped her ass and she retaliated on instinct, elbowing his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He was lucky she couldn't reach his balls.

"Pervert!" Cop or not, she wasn't about to let anyone feel her up like that.

Porcupine Head struggled for breath and composure. "Bitch, that's called 'assaulting a police officer.' You're in deep shit now." He jerked her arms behind her back, slammed her against the car and then cuffed her wrists. "I am NOT having a good day." His breath was hot down the back of her neck. "You don't wanna piss me off, okay?"

"Oy!" exclaimed his partner. "Easy on the suspects, mate."

"Shut your fucking mouth, Cox! This is my suspect, alright? I'll treat her however the fuck I want. Mind your own damn business and stop telling me how to do my job."

"I'll stop when you stop being a fucking dickhead."

"Whatever, you cum-gurgling, fruitcake. At least I got one." He opened the back door and shoved Asuka inside the vehicle.

In contrast, Cox lowered Lili into the backseat gently. "Ya'll ladies sit tight while I have a word with my partner, alright?"

"Not like we have a choice," muttered Asuka, struggling to wriggle free of the handcuffs. She and Lili kept their eyes on the rear view mirror, watching the soundless conversation between the so-called officers.

…

"Cox?" said Steve. "Really? _Cocks?_" He shook his head in disbelief. "That's it. I'm choosing my own pretend name next time."

Hwoarang sniggered, pleased with himself. "Quit your bellyaching, tightwad. It worked, didn't it? I always think up smart shit sometimes."

"Think they bought it?"

"Hell yeah. I deserve an Emmy nomination for that shit, bruh."

"You deserve castration, you sick fuck."

Hwoarang scoffed. "Can't stop talking about my dick, can ya?"

"What dick?"

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too, mate." Steve glanced back at the car, checking on the two heads hovering in the back window. "Well then. Now that that's sorted, only one thing left to be discussed really."

Silence.

Then suddenly, "Dibs on the brunette!" they exclaimed at the same time.

"Oh do fuck off," said Steve. "Why do you get the tits?"

"Because I saw her first? Because this whole thing was my idea? Because I got a bigger cock than you? I dunno, Fox – take your fucking pick."

Steve chuckled. "You haven't got a bigger cock than me."

"Yeah, I fucking do."

"No, you don't."

"Quit dreaming."

Hwoarang furrowed his brow. "Why would I dream about your cock?"

"You tell me, cuntbag."

"Do one."

"I'll do one all over your face if you don't shut your fanny-mouthed mug."

"Whatever," said Hwoarang, perplexed at the insult. "My cock's still bigger than yours."

"No, it ain't."

They argued all the way back to the car.

…

Hwoarang drove with one eye on the road and the other in the rear view mirror, ogling the brunette in the back seat. She hadn't stopped staring out her window since they left, probably trying to work out where they were and where they were going. Not even he, the driver, knew that much. Hwoarang must've circled the same block four times now. It was hard to concentrate with the brunette in his sights, an arm's reach away. Little did she know, he was studying her body with the same diligence she studied the streets. Her sweater vest grabbed hold of his eyes. The biggest mountains he'd seen in Osaka; they made his fingers want to go hiking. Her knees kept shut, frustrating his prying eyes, but the skirt rolled up her thighs and led on his imagination. His mind inserted him in the back seat beside her, romancing her gorgeous lips, nursing her breasts beneath the sweater, sneaking a hand between her smooth thighs, snaking up her little plaid skirt, touching her –

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Steve grabbed the wheel and averted a collision. "Eyes on the fucking road!"

"My bad." Hwoarang shook his head, humbled and embarrassed. He really needed to get laid.

"We're not really going to the police station, are we?" asked Asuka, adding it all up.

"Quiet."

"Are we even under arrest? Where are you taking us? You know this is considered kidnapping, right?"

"Hey, bitch. I said shut the fuck up." He glared at the rear view mirror where her chestnut eyes burned as fiery as his. "Can't hear myself think. You speak only when I ask you a question, girl. Are we clear?"

"Calm the fuck down," said Steve. "Excuse my partner, ladies. He's got some serious mommy issues."

Hwoarang raised his brows, taken aback. "Oh? You wanna talk about mommy issues, huh?"

"Don't go there, prick."

"Too late, fuckface. You already went there." Hwoarang twisted the knob on his voice to full blast, ensuring the passengers heard every decibel, drowning out Steve's protests in the backdrop. "Let me tell you something about my 'partner' over here," he said. "You may look at him and think he's a 'nice guy', but –"

Steve cut in, "I told you never to bring that up again –"

"But what kind of nice guy –"

"Douchebag, I'm warning you –"

"What kind of nice guy bangs his own damn mom?!"

Steve hung his head, massaging his temple, trying to scrub the memory away.

"Yeah, that's right." Hwoarang showed no sympathy for casting out one of his skeletons. He shouldn't have started it. "What's the matter, Cox? Are you going to deny it, _motherfucker_?"

"Look, I was wasted, okay? And the bitch's three years older than me – how the fuck was I supposed to know she's my mom?!"

Hwoarang laughed uncontrollably, banging on the steering wheel. "Oh, man. You have no idea how much I wish you came in the bitch."

"Mate, shut the fuck up. I told you I don't like fucking talking about it."

"Could've had a new son and a brother at the time!"

Steve pulled a gun on Hwoarang as the back seat gasped. "I'll blow your fucking brains out, I swear."

"Heh." Hwoarang leaned his head against the barrel, unafraid. "Is that what your mom said before she grabbed your cock?"

"That's it."

Steve smacked him over the head with the pistol then slammed his face into the steering wheel repeatedly. A chorus of honks puzzled nearby vehicles as the car swerved left and right. The turbulence threw the girls on top of each other, screaming for dear life. Instead of seizing control of the vehicle, Hwoarang dove from the driver's seat altogether, lunging at his attacker. The car drifted off the road and smashed into a street lamp. Not even that put a stop to the wrestling match. The scuffle burst the passenger door open and the men tumbled onto the sidewalk, rolling about in a flurry of punches, head-butts and insults.

Asuka and Lili looked at each other, astonished. "And I thought we were the bickering schoolgirls." After what felt like years of exchanging blows, the exhausted men stood up, dusted themselves off and reclaimed their positions in the vehicle. Hwoarang started the engine as if nothing had happened. Asuka couldn't help smirk. "Have you two ever considered marriage counselling?"

"Shut up!" they hollered in union.

…

Apparently the goofs gave up pretending to look for a police station. Sergeant Lieutenant Porcupine Head parked in a nearby suburb, settling for an abandoned house with a 'For Sale' sign on the front lawn. He peeped through the curtained windows while Cox kept watch for any passers-by. Satisfied with his observation, Porcupine Head picked the lock like a professional felon and ordered them to get inside.

Asuka wondered if they were still pretending to be cops. "Isn't this breaking and entering?" she asked, cheekily.

"You know, I'm getting really tired of your smart mouth." He smacked her bottom and gave it a rough squeeze. She gasped but he pushed her through the doorway all the same. "Get in, bitch."

Asuka growled. The stupid handcuffs thwarted her physical retort. "Fucking lowlife! Why don't you try that when my hands aren't tied behind my back?"

"Shut up and take a fucking seat." He shoved her onto the couch where Lili soon joined her. "Now you two little girls better stay put. You're already in enough trouble with the law as it is. I'm going to be standing right outside having a conversation with my partner. If you even think about trying anything funny, we'll know." He thrust his face within an inch of Asuka's, but if he expected her to flinch, he'd have to wait forever; she didn't even blink. He half-smiled as if he was impressed. "Remember, darlings, bad things happen to bad girls. So be good."

And with that, he disappeared out the front door, sure to stand on the porch where the girls could see the men's silhouettes through the front window, a not-so-subtle reminder of their presence.

"Unbelievable." Asuka huffed.

"I know," said Lili. "The amount of profanity I've heard today is absolutely diabolical. Is all that cursing really necessary?"

"Wait, you mean to tell me, after everything these bastards did to us, and probably still want to do, the cussing is what offends you the most?"

"Well, I mean, it is _quite_ rude."

"I seriously don't get you." Asuka wiggled left, right, and all around, but the handcuffs were married to her wrists. "Ugh! Come on!" Her rival, and fellow inmate, sat peacefully, not even trying. When questioned why, Lili broke down, admitting she feared the 'cops' would call her father. Apparently he placed a strict ban on fighting, and if he learned of her and Asuka's extracurricular activities, he would be dreadfully disappointed. Asuka sympathised with the pressure not to disappoint her father; being a substitute teacher at the Kazama dojo, she was expected to lead by example, which meant not abusing her martial arts expertise on starting needless fights. Still, she had no intention of bowing down to these scumbags. Frankly she expected Emilie Rochefort, of all people, to have more pride than that.

"You may not know this about me," said Lili. "But I've been kidnapped before."

"What? Really?"

She nodded. "I discovered what works best is to play to your captors' wishes. Remain polite and civil long enough and you may just convince them that you're friends. Once that transpires, their defences are at their lowest. Then it becomes a matter of picking the right moment. You'll be surprised how far simple conversation can take you."

Asuka had to admit, at least to herself, the blonde might've been on to something. Nonetheless, she shivered at the thought of that would-be cowboy putting his filthy hands on her again. "I don't know if I can follow through with it. Every time he calls me 'girl', I feel like putting my fist through his teeth. Ugh."

"Ever the brute, aren't you? It's painfully obvious the redhead has taken a liking to you." Lili giggled. "You'd do well to spin it in your favour. Besides, let's be candid, he's not the worst looking guy you've ever seen, is he?"

"Ew! Lili, can it," said Asuka. "What do looks have to do with anything? A creep's a creep."

Lili smiled. "If you insist…"

…

Hwoarang and Steve shared a silent moment on the porch, fixing a far-off gaze on the busted car, the latest imprint a dent from the streetlamp collision. The vehicle was a nagging reminder that they were on a mission. For Hwoarang, looking at it was like staring inside his own head, a battered, run-down mess going nowhere fast. All he did was serve the next pay check, risk his life so some anonymous bogeyman could get their box of toys. Maybe it was the stress talking, or the drought of cigarettes, or the sexual frustration, or all the shit mounting in his pitiful life, but Hwoarang had enough of being a glorified errand boy. In his three years of service to _The Company_, he'd never condoned their practices anyway, a paradoxical thing to admit. When he looked at the car, he thought, 'no more'.

When Steve looked at the car, he thought, "Bloody hell. Where'd you steal it from? The scrapyard? Looks like something that fell out of Optimus Prime's arse."

"Fox, until you get your own fucking ride, I don't wanna hear you shitting all over mine."

"Suit yourself, mate, but don't expect me to be riding shotgun in that death-trap next mission."

"There won't be a next mission," said Hwoarang, still fixated on the car.

Steve hesitated. "What you on about?"

"I'm done, Steve." Just hearing himself speak the words lifted the darkness above his head. "I'm taking back my life."

"Well, The Boss –"

"Fuck The Boss!" The conviction Hwoarang bore in his voice and eyes shocked Steve silent. "No one even knows who he is. 'The Boss' isn't a real name. He's got no damn face – how the hell do we even know he exists? If he wants his box, he can come fetch it himself. I'm done."

"You're serious," said Steve, solemnly. "You crazy fucker."

"Call me whatever you want." Hwoarang threw his arms in the air. "All I know is I'm walking back in that house, fucking the absolute shit out of that big-tittied broad, then walking outta here a free man." And so he headed for the front door.

Steve lingered for a moment, troubled, perplexed and inspired, then followed the redhead inside.

…

"We'll do anything you want," said Lili. "Please don't call daddy."

The men turned to each other and shrugged. No need to pretend anymore.

Steve hoisted Lili over his shoulder, legs dangling over his chest. He lifted her skirt for a peek and mouthed 'wow'. "Right. Off we go then," he said, smacking her ass on the way upstairs.

When Hwoarang tried to lift Asuka, she pushed him off with her shoulder. "I know how to walk on my own."

"Whatever." He guided her upstairs by the shoulders, leading her to the room adjacent to where Steve took Lili. His patience with Asuka had all but dissipated. He kicked the door open and jostled her inside.

"Hey, don't –"

"Oh, shut up already." He pushed her onto the edge of the bed and started unfastening his belt.

Asuka tried to swallow her nerves. If he had his way, it wouldn't be the only thing she'd be swallowing. It frightened her, the thought of sharing her first intimate experience with a no-good thug, and she only had until he finished undoing his pants to psych up for it. Her gaze followed his jeans as they slunk to the floor, partly to avoid looking at his junk, but mostly because she remembered the keys going into his back pocket. He lifted her chin, levelling her lips with the head of his cock. The mushroom-like cap stared at her through a minute hole, harbouring some clear, pungent substance. He put a gun to her head and unlocked the safety.

"If I even feel your teeth, you're gonna get it bad, and not in a good way, capiche?"

Asuka scrunched up her nose as the taste of cock soured her mouth. The utter disgust spread across her features amused him. She rocked back and forth at his command. Faster, he ordered. Faster. Faster. To the point he grabbed her head and imposed his pace first-hand. With her wrists bound and useless, Asuka could only groan her discontent as he rammed the inside of her cheek.

"Oh shit," he moaned, eyes half-closed. "Ah! Finally putting that smart mouth of yours to good use."

The fucking bastard didn't give her a second to breathe. She'd been stuffed with so much cock for so long, her saliva had to droop out the corners of her mouth to escape. When he finally relinquished her tresses, she coughed and sputtered, retreating further up the bed. He stepped out of his jeans, like she'd expected him to, and climbed on to the mattress after her. She lied still to lure him in. While he crawled over her body, eager to violate her, she positioned her knee beneath his crotch. He never saw it coming.

A roar of agony shook the walls.

He keeled over the side of the bed and Asuka scooted towards his trousers in a hurry. It was hard enough manoeuvring without arms; she still had to grab the key and unlock the handcuffs, all before he recovered from her sneak attack. She kept glancing towards the bed as she fumbled to free herself. Cursing, sweating, and spitting the aftertaste on her tongue, she succeeded at long last. She sprinted and made it as far as the door when his hand clutched her ankle. The grasp took her down, her head bouncing off the floor, the thud reverberating in her cranium. Her body stiffened and she heard him cursing profusely in the background. His voice faded though, waned. Her eyes fell dimmer, and dimmer, until all she could see was black, and all she could hear was nothing.


	2. Kcuf'd

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, guys. This chapter is Rated M for particularly sour lemonade.

* * *

Chapter 2 – Kcuf'd

Asuka snuck into the rose garden when no one was looking. Teacher made it clear this area was off limits. The pretty roses looked lonely all by themselves though, nothing like the giddy flowers on her dress smiling and swimming through the clouds. She was fascinated at how the petals could be so crimson. The fine red pulsated with passion while everything else wilted to grayscale. She knew there was something special about roses. Why else would grown-ups hand them to each other? Or keep them away from children so they could have them to themselves?

She liked roses. She didn't know why. They looked pretty. They smelt nice. They were almost the same colour as _his_ hair. She plucked one from the bush and hid it in her dress. Hopefully he'd like it as much as she did.

Asuka scuttled back to the playground, enthralled with the idea of sacrificing the treasure she'd risked punishment to obtain, not a clue what the gesture meant or what response it would garner. He wasn't at the swing beam where they usually played. Not at the monkey bars either. She was fraught with worry, lost in a haze of noisy, little pipsqueaks. Then she calmed down, and remembered his fiery-red hair. One of a kind amongst this ordinary bunch. She picked him out and rushed over at once. But stopped dead her tracks. There was a girl on the other end of the seesaw.

He and she were eating ice cream. Both laughing. Both happy. Both crimson while she faded to black and white.

Something broke inside her. She reached inside her dress for the rose and it turned on her too, prickling her index finger. A blob of red seeped out of her skin and then dropped into the sand. And then another drop, and another. And then a tear.

Asuka felt the salty droplets hit her face. How was that happening? The phenomenon pelted her while she tried to work it out. From little drops, it suddenly turned to a splash of water.

…

Asuka heard a voice say, "About goddamn time. Thought I'd have to bring out the horns."

Cold water drenched her face. Her body felt like a sack of potatoes. A light headache rapped on her right ear. She tried to raise a hand to nurse it but her wrist rattled against a steel rim. Huh? She mapped her outstretched arm all the way to the handcuff binding her to a bedpost. Her other arm extended in the opposite direction, just as hopeless. With panic, she learned kicking out was futile too, legs parted, ankles shackled to more bedposts. She caught sight of her sweater vest folded on a chair and her shoes sat underneath it, neither of which she'd realised had been taken off her person. Looking over her body, the presence of her school uniform and socks relieved her. Her undergarments felt as if they'd remained where she left them, thank God. What was this deranged perv planning to do with her?

Porcupine Head circled the bed in boxers, a vulture ogling every inch of its prey, a coward afraid of getting the shit kicked out of him by a schoolgirl. He carried a limp in his step thanks to her last-ditch ploy to escape. Asuka smirked, appeased.

She wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing her fear. "Untie me now and maybe I won't hurt you some more."

He laughed, sure of his position as ever. "You must be mistaking me for my dumbass partner. I'm no nice guy."

"You're a sicko is what you are."

"Tch." His weight sunk the edge of the bed, cold shadow looming upon her. Asuka wriggled, unable to stop him clutching her jaw. He pinched her mouth inwards repeatedly. "Lil' bitch, never know when to shut your trap, do you? Luckily, I got just the thing for that." He rubbed his crotch suggestively.

Her taste buds trembled in disgust at the harsh reminder. "Don't touch me." She shook his hand away.

"This is gonna happen the easy way or the hard way – but it _is_ gonna happen. Your choice," he said. "Wanna be a bitch? I can treat you like one."

If she didn't know any better, she'd think he actually valued her comfort. Her predicament lent itself to his decree; he didn't need her permission to do as he pleased, yet he sought to talk her into it.

He let silence cool the air, then asked, "What are you so angry about?"

"What, you're my psychiatrist now?"

"Just saying. You strike me as an angry person. I would fucking know."

She surprised herself wanting to delve deeper into the topic, with this person, in this setting. No one she knew offered to talk about things beneath the surface. Not her father, not classmates, sure as hell not Jin. Her reputation for squashing fights, though righteous, alienated her peers. Most of the boys were afraid of her and those that weren't should've been. So no boyfriends. Instead, she confronted rumours of being lesbian. She must've housed resentment on a subconscious level. This creep saw through to it despite knowing nothing about her.

Suddenly, Porcupine Head seemed like a deeper, understanding person, stroking her hair. She recoiled at his touch nevertheless. He just laughed. "You know when I called you pretty I wasn't just saying it to mock you."

She rolled her eyes. "Fuck you."

"Feisty too." He grinned. "Let me help you get rid of all that pent-up anger." And just like that, the creepy perv made his return.

Hungry eyes lusted at her chest. Her bosom stretched the white, buttoned shirt to its limits; an inch further and the button holding it altogether would pop right off. Ugh, the stupid school had been out of her size the day she walked in, a hiccup she often concealed with her sleeveless sweater. One girl's inconvenience was another man's delight. His hands shaped the outsides of her breasts and pushed them together. The compression augmented their largeness to epic proportions. His eyes bulged like a prepubescent boy seeing his first pair. Shouting names like 'creep' and 'pervert' didn't slow him down. She could only lie back and watch him grope her assets to his lust's content. Asuka had grown used to attracting unwanted attention for their larger-than-life size. She always made sure goggling from a distance was the closest anyone got. The only time a boy had ever touched her breasts was by accident and the beating she delivered put him off boobs for life. She wasn't used to being this vulnerable and toothless.

He unfastened the lowest button and travelled north despite her fidgeting making things difficult. With each button undone, she felt more and more of her abdomen become cold, exposed. She feared he wouldn't quit until she was topless. He surprised her stopping halfway up. But then his hand crawled beneath the shirt and unclipped her bra. Horror struck as he extracted the undergarments, albeit without removing her top.

"Damn, what do they feed you?" He stretched out her bra, shocked at its full width.

"Sh-shut up," said Asuka, rosy cheeks. "Is this the only way you can get a girl? You're pitiful."

"Shut your trap, slut. You got no idea what kind of man I fucking am."

"You're right. I'm not sure you're a man at all." She raised her head, craning her neck with effort, and then whispered bitterly, "When I hit you… I didn't feel anything down there."

His grin disappeared all too abruptly. She'd done it now.

The rage in his eyes was quickly replaced by a wily glaze. "You know," he said, stroking her sock. "You have a lot of balls…" His finger traced up her shin. Up her thigh. "For someone who doesn't have any."

Her breath hitched in her throat as he gave no inclination of slowing down. She shivered, the tingle floating higher up her inner thigh. "Please…" Her fortitude began to crack.

He lied on his side and got up in her face, taking in every twitch, facet and micro-expression he churned out of her. She felt claustrophobic, pinned against his body, buried under his breath. The stench of sweat and cigarette smoke clogged her lungs. He tried to get her to look at him but she squirmed in defiance. She cringed as his tongue scraped the side of her face. He complimented the taste of fear on her skin. She ignored the creep, watching his hand vanish under her skirt, eyes trembling in helplessness.

He massaged her crotch, digits rubbing over her panties. "Never been touched like this, have you?" He looked ecstatic to be the first. "I can see it in your eyes, girl. Now let's find out what you're working with." He barged down her waistband, opposing her pleas. "Oh, not a big fan of shaving, I see. Then again, I get the impression you weren't expecting visitors anytime soon. Well, surprise, bitch." She tried to headbutt him but he swayed back and the cuffs restrained her with a violent jerk. "Phew," he said, chuckling. "Now where were we?" He resumed thumbing her pubic hair. "It's dry as the Sahara down here. Let's see if we can fix that, huh?"

He mouthed the cusp of her right breast, drinking in shirt and flesh in one fell swoop. The hairs on her neck exclaimed at the perverse sensations. One reason she loathed anyone touching her chest was her embarrassing sensitivity. She'd turned herself on in the past by accidentally brushing against things. So while he sucked her tits through the thin fabric, she dreaded the way her body was reacting. Switching back and forth between breasts, he left dark blotches on the fabric covering her areolas, erect nipples poking at the semi-transparent shirt. The pleasures of his tongue spread southward, humidifying her nether regions.

"That's more like it," he murmured, gathering moisture on his fingertips. "Attagirl, get that pussy nice and wet for me."

Grumbling, she played into his hands, quite literally. It was tough denouncing her body's dispositions, especially with the way he gorged himself on her tender breasts and massaged her snatch, matting her pubic hair with her own juices. His fondling became rapid and frantic, quickening her breath. Her wet entrance had been seduced, teased and prepped for penetration, yielding to his probing digits. One by one, they took turns to peep inside. It felt dirty getting fingerfucked by this maniac – who knew where his hands had been? But once she succumbed to the reality of her ordeal, a sense of relaxation touched her, caressed her desires, granted her permission to experience the novelty of intimate contact. He discovered places inside her beyond her reach and imagination. Places that made her whimper and jitter. Places she'd been dying to find.

She felt angry and confused when he up and left without sharing his thoughts or intentions. A cruel master training her to accept his fingers, to cherish them, only to rip them away and leave her a cold, soppy mess. Her pussy ached and she couldn't even reach down to finish what he started.

It probably took him three seconds to walk to the foot of the bed but to her it felt like three days. He dropped onto the bare mattress, no sheets, just her, heaving, leaking. She could only lift her head far enough to glance over her mounds where a porcupine of red hair and beady eyes lurked on the horizon. She saw her legs forked, his face hovering in the centre. She blushed, knowing what sights were afforded to him. He waddled towards her snatch like a crocodile chasing his prey. Famished, pumped, he crawled inside her skirt, forming a hump of plaid. Claws scraped her panties to the side and steamy breath clouded her nakedness. His proximity alone provoked goose bumps. She lingered and lingered, chest rising higher and faster, every second lasting forever. He was a bastard for giving her the ache and a torturer for prolonging the suffering it caused. But when the moment came, when his tongue lashed at her clit, everything was forgivable.

Her wrists clanged against their restraints, forced to contain herself as he tasted her insides. She lied there, absorbing all the pleasure while he mustered all the effort, yet it was her face breaking out in hot, clammy sweat. He showed no restraint in his perversion, licking her cunt from top to bottom, flattening her pubes in long, sticky strides. His tongue could be strong, rough, and then the next moment, delicate, as deft as paintbrush. The hump in her skirt bobbed and shuffled, emanating mad slurps. Holy fuck, thought Asuka, panting harder and harder. She could feel something immense building inside her, wanting to erupt. This time her wriggles weren't geared towards escape. His feverish feasting combined with her uncontrollable tremors tipped the skirt onto her abdomen. Suddenly, she was looking into the eyes of the carnivore, and what she saw flipped her upside-down.

The red hair. Why had it taken her this long to make the connection? Those eyes. _His_ eyes. Could he be…?

No. It was more likely a facet of her brain. She'd always associated good things with the past, nostalgia. The intense pleasure racking her body, the fact he was giving it to her, the coincidence of his hair colour – it all must've colluded with her imagination to fabricate a prettier scenario than what was actually happening. A coping mechanism. Anything else was just impossible, surely? She bore into his eyes, searching for answers, and he stared back, giving none. She didn't give up, didn't look away, even as the mounting pressure reached her cusp. Asuka came, cuffed hands balling into fists, back arched off the bed, thoughts merging past and present into one.

As she floated down the enormous high, laboured breathing, drenched in sweat, Porcupine Head was already making preparations for the next step. He kicked off his boxers and straddled her waist. She was too out of it to fathom his plans or even attempt to slow him down. He ripped open the rest of her shirt. His erection made a landing strip out of her cleavage. It had a hard, spongy texture to it. He squished her breasts together, sandwiching his dick as he rocked back and forth.

"God, I've been waiting to fuck these massive tits since I first laid eyes on them," he said, hotly.

She made soft, squealing sounds as he twisted her puffy nipples. The bulbous head poked in and out of her fleshy crevice and came close to jabbing her chin on occasion. He moaned dramatically at the thrill of titty-fucking her, clasping her breasts together so they wouldn't wobble out of place. She didn't garner pleasure from his weight crushing her body or his dick cramming into her cleavage. Seeing and feeling his desperation, however, stroked her self-esteem and the notion of being sexy, at least to him. No boy had openly admitted to liking her that way. And here, this gorgeous, lustful stranger was doing more than telling her. He even understood her a bit. Asuka couldn't help be attracted to that side of him. So when Porcupine Head descended to claim her first kiss, she gave it to him without hassle.

It was amazing how far a little memory and a lot of foreplay could go. The cigarette smoke became tolerable, not only that, but mildly pleasant too. It didn't make a difference knowing nothing about kissing. His experience was momentous enough for the both of them. He knew when she needed a light peck, when her lips needed to be nibbled on, when her tongue needed coaxing or a sloppy embrace. They kissed like passionate lovers, not captor and captive. His weight pancaked her breasts and the friction of their bustling electrified her nipples. She felt his dick rubbing against her thigh, dangerously close to her moist heat. He romanced the side of her face and whispered, "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you, girl."

Her loins flared up at the audacity. It was the first time the word 'girl' didn't bother her. Asuka spent all her life in charge of her own business, and other people's – whether it was teaching students at her father's dojo or breaking up scuffles on the streets. She never had a moment to experience vulnerability. To truly appreciate it. To shed responsibility and let someone else take care of her. To find freedom in helplessness. To get fucked senseless without a say in the matter. The handcuffs she'd loathed and feared turned into her ultimate liberators.

He slapped her inner thighs, and then her pussy, coercing a yelp from her lips. Not a yelp of pain, not entirely. The sting peppered her excitement. "Is that all you got?" she sneered, egging him on. "I've fought girls that hit harder than that."

Her cheek caught him off guard. He lashed at her pussy again.

She yelped. "And you call yourself a man?"

SLAP!

"You're a pussy –"

SMACK!

"Ah!"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

She let out an eccentric purr, a cross between laughing and moaning.

"Wow," said Porcupine Head. "You're one of those. Should've guessed it from the start."

"Shut up," she said, breathless. "Shut up and fuck me."

Shock tugged on his eyebrows. Her metamorphosis surprised her too. She'd been dragged in, tied, and frightened, on the verge of begging several times, but here she lie giving her kidnapper orders. Her encouragement was like wind to his fire. He discarded his vest in a hurry, the last item of clothing he had left. Asuka had fought a lot toned men in her time but she'd never regarded their chests in this context. Broad, powerful, sculpted in concrete and beauty. She bit her bottom lip, the urge to touch and taste his pectorals suddenly overwhelming. But first things first.

He uncuffed her ankles, needing the flexibility of her legs to fulfil his exploits. With her sock-covered feet on his shoulders, the tease rubbed his cock up and down her slit, prodding at her clitoris. Her vulva was engorged with sexual desire. She was wet, willing and waiting.

Asuka didn't fear penetration the way other virgins might've. With the fights she'd engaged in, and the kind of moves she pulled, her hymen hadn't stood a chance. If not for that, the dildo hidden in the bottom of her drawer would've probably taken it out anyway. She knew what to expect as his cock barged past her panties. Well, at least she thought she knew. The difference between silicone and living, throbbing manhood struck her immediately. His dick felt like hot steel, yet soft and smooth at the same time. It pulsated with life and lust, an inimitable extension of him and carnal desire. The animal within was desperate to fuck her. And so he did. And as he pumped with more grit and ferocity than she'd ever achieved on her own, she quickly made up her mind on which she preferred.

He was a rowdy lover, grunting, cursing and vocalising everything he loved about fucking her. She lost count of how many times he marvelled at her tightness or the size and lewd motions of her breasts. It turned her on. She wanted more and more of him, faster and harder. He hugged her legs and fulfilled her desires, hips swinging at triple the pace, lashing at her flesh with loud, reverberating smacks. She moaned her lungs out, sweating buckets of heat, watching the ceiling rock and her world spin. He leaned over her body, a face in the clouds, sodden with musk, precipitating. She looked in his eyes and saw that boy again, a man now, with all the faculties of one. He exploited her flexibility to its full extent, pinning her feet to the sides of her face. The angle allowed him to swing his weight into the thrusts, plunging his length deep inside her wet cove. Her gash sputtered as his hips crashed into her, harsh and relentless. Her cries and his grunts sang to the backdrop of wet, slapping flesh.

Bound, and folded in half, Asuka felt like she was being fucked in the midst of an earthquake. The intensity of his thrusts sunk their bodies through the mattress, bed springs squeaking as if they were about to give out. It didn't deter him though. Nothing would interrupt him from fucking her lights out, least of all a ravished bed, or his cell phone suddenly ringing. Asuka wanted it no other way. Her pussy provided every ounce of lubrication he'd need. The stabbing sensations blended pain and pleasure to have her moaning for centuries. He dripped sweat all over her body and she licked it off her face. His dick twitched inside her, and suddenly, his features froze in ecstasy. He pulled out seconds before a hot burst thrust him over the edge. She was grateful he remained cognisant enough to avoid risking pregnancy. Instead, he doused her chest with spurt after spurt of white gunk, the cream to her puffy buns.

He collapsed beside her. Their chests rose and fell as if they were racing against one another.

"Wow." Hwoarang wiped his face. "You sure can take a lot of dick for a schoolgirl."

Asuka panted, struggling to work up the energy for a retort. "Hey, what's your name?"

"That's a weird fucking thing to ask right now, don't you think?"

"I know it's not Brock Hardy. Or do you want me to keep calling you 'Porcupine Head'?"

He chuckled. "It's Hwoarang."

"Surname?"

"I don't have one."

She gave him a look.

"No, really. I don't have one."

Whatever that meant, thought Asuka. "You know what? I'm gonna stick to Porcupine Head."

"Bitch."

She snickered. "Can you take these off?" She jerked her head towards the handcuffs. "Now that it's over."

"Sure." He unlocked the cuffs around the bedposts. "But who said it's over?" He grinned.

She yelped as he suddenly dragged her off the bed.

Within seconds of being free, she found herself fixed to the footboard, bent over in a compromising position. He yanked her panties to her knees and threw her skirt over her waist. Not a hint, not a warning, just a sudden, forceful ram through her core, splitting her in two, tearing a cry from her throat. He gripped her hips and worked into a vigorous rhythm. Her plump ass cushioned the rampage while her gash took the brunt of his dick and ball-slapping action. Getting pounded from behind did wonders for her g-spot. Hands clenched on the footboard, the beam rattled as she took thrust after thrust after thrust. Her breasts hung out of the open shirt, swinging with the momentum, dripping his cum. She whimpered as a sizzling smack peppered her ass cheek. Like before, she enticed him with belittling remarks. Before long, his slaps were alternating between her cheeks, leaving her rosy and wonderfully sore.

He pulled her short locks and bit her nape. Electricity surged through her bloodstream. She was so helplessly defenceless against this marvellous brute. He lifted her right leg out of her panties and set her knee on the footboard, ventilating the humid atmosphere between her thighs, and also crafting the space to fit his hand. He supplemented the thrusting with clitoral stimulation while his opposing fingers fondled her breasts. She squealed like a little girl, body trembling from head to toe, pussy lips constricting. Her eyes fell shut and her head lolled onto his shoulder as her body jerked, convulsed, and came all over his dick and fingers. He rubbed her honey off and smeared it on her face. Grabbing her waist, he pumped heaven and hell out of her sweet, little cunt. She felt him vacate her pussy with a grunt, and moments later, hot liquid showered her ass, seeping down her crack and thighs.

She slumped to the floor, leaning against the footboard, breathing through her mouth and nose. "Over now?"

Hwoarang looked down on her, racked with fatigue. "Nope."

They both grinned.

…

Steve slammed the wall to the neighbouring room. "Oy! Keep it down in there. Fucking jackrabbits."

Lili sat across the bed, fully dressed, as was he. "I can't believe they're actually…"

"I can't believe we're not," said Steve. When he carried her into this room, he had every intention of doing to her what Hwoarang was doing to that poor girl, except he was better at making love than his dim-witted partner. As it were, conversation started between Steve and Lili, and well, he supposed it just kept going.

She was a good listener and seemed genuinely interested in his life, the tale of a renowned boxing champion turned penniless mercenary. He went from fighting for world titles to fighting for the next buck every morning. Not even he was sure how that happened. In his line of business, opportunities for social conversations were far and few between, to the point talking to a teenage schoolgirl felt therapeutic. Sure, he could've easily fucked her, but amazingly, this felt so much better.

"May I see it?" asked Lili.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," said Steve. "It's not for the faint at heart, love."

"Oh, come on. I'm not as sheltered as you presume."

"Well, alright then." He rolled up his left sleeve, revealing the horrid scar climbing up his arm, diverging like tree branches. It looked like a combination of a scab and a burn mark, consuming half his limb. He expected her to shriek at any second. But it never came.

"Whoa… That's amazing." She gawked. "Can I touch it?"

He threw his arms up at a loss of words. "Why not?"

As she moved her cuffed hands over the scar and traced it with her fingers, he couldn't help notice something strange about the girl. She looked like a princess, acted like one too, but there was something dark about her, something sinister hidden beneath those sweet, porcelain eyes.

Something abrupt thumped against the wall, forcing them to both flinch. Then the wet sounds of kissing and God-knows-what-else permeated the thin barrier. They heard bodies shifting and groping. Moans and groans. It was obvious their randy neighbours were going at it against the wall.

Lili scrunched her face in disgust. "God, those two…"

Steve chuckled at her innocence. He felt his pocket vibrate and pulled out the disposable cell phone. They were standard practice for people like him on missions like this, preferred for their untraceable element. The name flashing on screen jolted Steve upright.

_The Boss._

In all the missions he'd undertaken for _The Company_, he'd never received a direct call from The Boss. Lili looked puzzled at his grim face. This was serious. He picked up.

"Are you Agent KH9 on mission PB037?" The smooth voice crackling through the receiver was blatantly distorted.

"Er, that's right, sir."

"Are you currently with Agent KH8?"

Steve glanced at the wall and rolled his eyes at the moans. "Yes."

"We understand you intercepted the package successively. However, you've failed to deliver it in the allotted time. The contents of that package are irreplaceable and crucial to our business needs. We are granting you an additional 15 minutes to deliver the box intact. Otherwise, we will be forced to consider this mission a failure and terminate all parties involved. Understood?"

Steve screwed his eyes shut as if the words pained him. "Understood."

The Boss hung up. The time for dawdling and discussion was over.

"What is it?" asked Lili, concerned by his concern.

He snapped the flip phone shut. "We're fucked."

…

Mr Rochefort just got off the phone in his office when a subordinate barged into his room hastily. He was already in a foul mood and this imbecile's lack of decorum earned him a trip through his thirty-storey high window. The order sat on the brink of his tongue until he heard what the man had to say.

"M-M-Mr Rochefort, sir. Something terrible has happened."

"Something terrible is about to happen to you."

"Sir, with all due apologies, this concerns your daughter."

Mr Rochefort stopped, every thought in his brain suspended, as if someone just hit pause on the universe. "Where's Emilie?"

"S-she's been k-k-kidnapped, sir."

"What?" The chair screeched as he rose from his throne.

"The limousine was dispatched to pick her up from school but the driver reported she wasn't at the usual waiting spot. He investigated, asked classmates and students alike. N-none of them could provide her location. She was last seen in her final lesson. We found her belongings in one of the school's neighbouring tennis courts. Her phone was in the bag too. No sign of her, sir. I'm…I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Find my daughter!" He banged his desk. "And when you do, I want you to bring whoever took her here so I can skin them alive myself. Go!"

The man tripped over himself rushing out of the room.

Mr Rochefort grabbed the phone and threw it through the window, glass exploding with rage. He drooped in his chair, no longer a leader, nor powerful, nor wealthy, nor The Boss. Just a man in a suit, slumped over with his face in his palm. "Please. No. Not again. Not my Emilie…"

He wept alone in the cold, dark office.


	3. Tea and Scones

**A/N:** Warning, this chapter contains violence and profanity. Thanks again to my reviewers, and the two anonymous ones I couldn't reply to.

* * *

Chapter 3 – Tea and Scones

Hwoarang was fastening his belt when the umpteenth bang rattled the door. It was just like Fox to bust early and ruin the fun for everyone else. The Englishman unleashed his frustration punching down the door. A semi-nude Asuka shrieked and took cover behind the bed.

"The hell, man?" Hwoarang raised his arms in protest.

Fox barged in regardless. "Oy dimwit, get your cock out your ear and check your bloody phone."

"Heh. And here I thought your mom lost my number."

"Piss off. Now's not the time for fucking wisecracks."

"Alright, bitch. Don't get your panties in a bunch," said Hwoarang, raising his voice to match Fox's hysteria. "What the fuck you pacing for anyway? Still didn't get any, did you?" A wry grin crossed his lips. "Alone in a room with a bangin' broad – wrists tied up – and you still couldn't get the job done?" Hwoarang shook his head, half disappointed, half amused. "What's the matter, Fox? Forgot where it goes?"

"Keep opening your trap and I'll show you exactly where it goes," said the fiery blond, pointing an angry finger at his mouth.

Hwoarang blew him off and fished the disposable phone from his pocket. Horror swept over his features as he scanned through the missed calls. "The Boss? Fuck." He gulped.

"Get your shit together." Steve hurled the vest at its shirtless owner. "We got less than 15 minutes to finish the job."

"15 what?! That's never gonna happen." Hwoarang paced, joining Fox's hysteria, grunting and ruffling his hair. Five minutes blew past while they contemplated their options. "Wait," said Hwoarang. "Why can't we just run? Osaka's a big fucking country. If The Boss could find us that easily, he'd be pegging us right now."

"First off, Osaka's not a country, retard. Secondly, are you bloody mental?"

"What? They'll never find us."

The sound of screeching tires cut into their conversation. Asuka spied through a gap in the curtains. "Uh, guys…"

Hwoarang shot his partner a nervous glance and received one in return. They rushed to the window, nearly tripping over their feet.

Half a dozen shoddy sedans and pickup trucks pulled up on the lawn. The semi-circle formation barricaded the front exit. Thugs poured out the cars and jumped out the trucks, clad in dishevelled garbs, smeared with ugly tattoos, equipped for war. Bats. Knives. Chainsaws. Guns. Lots of guns.

"Looks like we got company." Steve whistled. "And something tells me they're not here for tea and scones."

"No shit, blondie," said Hwoarang. "This isn't Britain – no one's out for fucking tea and scones."

Hwoarang whipped out a measly handgun.

Asuka raised a brow. "You mean that's all you're packing?"

Steve grinned. "If I had a quid every time a woman told him that."

Hwoarang pointed the gun at his crotch. "Sorry, I didn't quite get that. What did you say?"

Steve cocked his own pistol and aimed it at Hwoarang's crotch. "You really want to do this? I'm good at hitting small targets, mate."

Lili bustled into the room, panic in her steps, but stopped shy of the perplexing stand-off. "Er . . . I hate to interrupt your little moment, but please could someone unlock my cuffs?"

Why not? As far as Hwoarang could tell, they were all sitting in the same boat, soon to be sunk, fake cops and haughty schoolgirls alike. They'd had their way with the broads – at least he had – and the need to play Brock Hardy and Steve Cox all but fell away. He'd already freed the brunette, albeit with messy hair and a dishevelled school uniform. Having popped her buttons off, she was forced to wear the shirt open, exposing glimpses of bra and the treasures it bestowed. It gave her appearance a fierce, gritty, sexy edge. The more he stared, the more his pants tightened, amazing considering the rounds they'd already done. She was quite possibility the best lay he'd ever had, certainly the best he remembered. The way she glared while he ogled only added fuel to his burning lust.

After his partner released Lili, she twisted her wrists with a sigh, getting re-accustomed to freedom. "What now?"

"Now," said Steve. "You birds are going to sit pretty while me and this dickwad handle the situation."

Hwoarang grunted at the insult. He pulled a second pistol from his ankle strap.

"So you intend to just leave us here?" asked Lili, huddling up with Asuka.

The brunette shoved her off with a shrug of her shoulder. "At least toss us a gun."

Hwoarang scoffed. "You seen what we up against? I'm not about to waste ammo on a terrible shot."

"But I've –"

"_Duck Hunt_ doesn't count, bitch. Sit tight. Fox, let's go."

…

Hwoarang peeked outside the living room window, using his gun to part the curtains just wide enough for an eyeball. Through the narrow slit, he counted at least seven thugs crouched behind vehicles for cover, heads and guns poking over bonnets. He'd feared the Boss had sicked his dogs on them but looking at the men's attire and their rudimentary weapons, they appeared to be your run-of-the-mill, street punks. Then again, so were he and Steve, and they were currently on duty for The Company.

One man stood above others in stature and in boldness. Close to seven feet tall, the shaggy-haired brawler basked in the open, ahead of all the cars and the men cowering behind them. He wore cargo pants and an open t-shirt, boasting the shape of a hardened fighter. The overconfident brute snubbed a bulletproof vest and carried no weapons – aside from the large fists cracking in fingerless gloves.

"Don't be shy," he said, Spanish thick in his enunciation. A false calmness papered over boiling rage. "We know you're in there. Here's your opportunity to come out and settle this like gentlemen."

Hwoarang looked at Steve who was observing from a window across the room. Concern flickered in his eyes.

"Think we can talk this out?" asked Steve.

"I don't see why not." Hwoarang shrugged. "I'm sure all those gats and chainsaws are just for fun. And all those slobbering ink-heads waiting to pounce are up for intelligent conversation. See that motherfucker with the crazy look in his eyes – no, not the one that looks like he just murdered an entire school – the one next to him, with the grilled teeth and axes tattooed on his throat – yeah, he seems like a perfectly decent human being to me, ready to sit down have a nice chat about the weather over tea and scones."

"Shut your fucking hole, mate. You've made your point."

"Really? Have I? Fucking moron."

The leader stood his ground cracking his knuckles, his hounds on a leash anticipating a signal. Hwoarang might've taken him on under better circumstances. Not a fucking chance with those goons frothing at the lips. He was happy to cower behind the curtains safe and sound. Well, until they said 'fuck it' and charged in anyway. Seeing as the showdown hadn't sparked off yet, Hwoarang wondered if there wasn't something he could bargain for his safety.

"I don't know what this is about," he shouted from the corner of the window. "I've got two hot broads here – I'm talking top of the line, fresh outta school poontang. Man, you need to check out the melons on these bitches. You look like a manly man to me." He tried to cosy up to the leader. "You're into that right? Tell you what – let us walk and you get 'em both. Right now. No strings attached. I sampled the goods myself, trust me, you don't wanna miss out. Think of all the things you could do, man."

"What are you doing?" Steve hissed.

"What does it look like?" he whispered back. "Trying to save our asses. What? Don't tell me you got attached." He grunted in amusement.

"You're fucked up."

"Holy fuck. You did get attached. Fucking pussy." Hwoarang swung back to the thugs outside. "Make that three broads."

Steve shook his head.

The leader humphed. "You invaded our territory, stole from our stash, and think you can buy us off with cheap whores?"

"Whoa, that's harsh," said Hwoarang. "They're not cheap." Wait a minute, stole? Hwoarang had pinched many luxuries in his life, but the owners either failed to pin it on him or never lived long enough to try. The only thing he recalled stealing in the last few hours was a packet of Skittles and a stupid box. It just struck him. "You want the box back," he said out loud. "Shit, if that's all this is about you can have it. I don't even care about it anymore." The Boss could come down and deal with these psychos his goddamn self.

"You disrespect Miguel, breaking into my home," said the brute. "You disrespect la familia. You take what's not yours. You take my men's lives. So, no…" He cracked his neck. "That is not _all_ this is about. What I want is resting on your shoulders." The rev of a chainsaw punctuated his words.

Hwoarang turned to Steve and saw the word thumping in his head, the same word thumping in his own. Fuck.

As the redhead glanced around for an escape route, Lili came hurrying down the staircase. Hwoarang and Steve panicked, bewildered, asking her what she was doing, demanding her back upstairs. The blonde princess was so confident the thugs wanted nothing to do with her that she made a beeline for the front door. Before they could stop her, she flew into the open. Shots fired. One yelp and one second later, she jumped back into the house covering her ears. Hwoarang facepalmed.

"What the hell was that?" asked Steve, enraged.

"I-I'm sorry, I just want to go home." Nervous breaths interrupted her words. She plucked her dazzling, quartz earrings and tucked them down her shirt.

Hwoarang was taken aback. "You nearly got your ass blown off and you're worried about earrings? Tch, rich kids."

"They're an irreplaceable gift from my father. A bastard like you wouldn't understand."

"What the fuck did you just –"

Steve pointed a gun at him, stopping him en route. "She's not the fucking enemy, you git." He jerked his head towards the window. "Besides, she's right. You're a fucking bastard."

Hwoarang didn't have time to retort as a heavy sigh from outside caught their attention.

Miguel lost hope of drawing them out. "What a pain." He whistled. The shrill signal was followed by a barrage of bullets.

The ruckus of a thousand firecrackers berated their eardrums. Hwoarang tugged Lili away from the door seconds before projectiles seared through it. He held her tightly, if not roughly, cradling her head as he warned her not to move. Bullets battered the house in droves, blasting through doors and windows, glass exploding all around them. Steve ducked against the wall and kept his arms tucked into his body, a stance mirrored by Hwoarang while he guarded Lili. The redhead felt the missiles pounding on the other side of the wall; if not for the thickness backing his spine, he'd be a paraplegic a dozen times over. Without a counterattack, they would be as good as dead. They needed to eliminate some of these trigger-happy meatheads and put off their friends from getting closer to their refuge. Hwoarang muttered in Lili's ear to sprint to the kitchen as fast as she could on his command. While the hesitant girl mumbled her concerns, he and Steve looked at each other, waiting for a moment of silence and opportunity. When the hail of gunfire petered out, he had one word for Lili.

"Go!"

Ready or not, Hwoarang and Steve aimed their guns outside their respective windows with telepathic understanding. Lili continued to dillydally up until fired shots kicked her into motion. She scampered with a squeal. Hwoarang managed to blast a thug in the Adam's apple before they all raised their arms to retaliate. With Steve stationed at the opposite window, the ingrates had their attentions divided, befuddled on where to aim. Their return fire, while plentiful, was nowhere near as efficient as it should've been. Hwoarang and Steve took out three goons each, but when the former pressed his trigger for a fourth time, it clicked harmlessly.

Hwoarang ducked inside and examined the magazine. "Shit."

"Out already?" said Steve, forced to retreat without his partner's cover. "Now who's premature?"

"Still you, fuckface." Hwoarang tossed the empty gun and checked the other. "Shit."

"What?"

"Two rounds, man."

"Fuck me." Steve hissed. "What kind of moron carries a gun without ammo?"

"Hey! I still got two fucking bullets in here, okay?" Hwoarang aimed the gun at him. "Open your mouth again and I'll fill it with a hot load. Try me, bitch. Fucking try me."

Steve pointed his gun between his eyes. "Think I won't, cunt? Think I like having your whiny ass fucking up my day? I'll waste you right here and take out all these fuckers on my own, useless git."

They screamed at each other over the hail of bullets.

"Fuck," said Hwoarang. "Like I was supposed to know we'd get jumped by tattooed freaks." He would've pocketed all the ammo left in the car if that was the case. As things stood, he didn't like his chances running to the shells, what with gun and chainsaw-wielding madmen in the way.

The pressure mounted, pushing Hwoarang and Steve deeper into the house. Miguel stood back while his cronies knocked down the door and jumped through the windows. Hwoarang waited around a corner. As the barrel of a probing gun crept into view, he pulled in the wielder, destabilized him with a few kicks and relieved him of his weapon. Granted, the moron didn't go down quietly. Shots were fired in Hwoarang's direction, chipping at the corner of his hiding spot. Steve retaliated from another section of the house. The grunts caught off guard went down with death cries. Hwoarang used the opportunity to flee from his compromised spot, running sideways and shooting every which way as return fire redecorated the wall behind him. He took cover in the dining room but hadn't expected the goon waiting around the corner.

The sneaky fucker swung a bat and smashed him in the ribs. Hwoarang's gun clattered out of grasp. The thug swung for his head next. Hwoarang rolled out of harm's way and the bat broke in two against the wall. He seized the foe's wrist with one hand, drove a foot into his side and then smeared his sole against his cheek, and with one push, snapped his neck. Hwoarang grabbed his gun seconds before three hounds came looking for revenge. He dove over the dining room table, escaping hot slugs, and then pushed it over to craft a barricade. Crouched against the shield, he fired blindly over the top, hitting at least one goon if the groan was anything to go by. "You should've taken the pussy, man!"

Cocky as he was, Hwoarang had just run out of bullets, again. The shots rattling the table aggravated the agony in his ribs. Shit, he hissed. With only two bullets left in his original gun, he was reluctant to return fire. His gaze darted about for an exit strategy and discovered a shut door across the room. At the soonest opportunity, he shot over the barrier, forcing his pursuers behind the walls for cover, and broke into a sprint. Shoulder first, he barged through the door and found himself in the kitchen. An instinctive glance to the right revealed a cupboard slightly ajar and the tip of a white boot peering out the shadows. Lili's eye floated in the darkness, quivering, afraid. A few feet away from the cupboard was the backdoor to freedom, not a scumbag in sight to block him, at least for the time being. Hwoarang could make a break for it right now and save his own ass. He had to ask himself why he should continue risking his skin to save a spoiled brat who'd lived twice the life he had despite her youth. Not one rich bastard came to mind that had ever bothered to help his penniless ass. And Fox? Fuck Fox. He could take care of himself. The decision to flee settled in his heart yet as he glanced at the door, then to the cupboard, then back to the door, for some stupid, fucking reason his feet just couldn't move. And in that split second hesitation, the rush of angry footsteps muddied his opportunity to escape.

Hwoarang grabbed a steak knife off a stand of a dozen more. He engaged a thug wielding a short blade of his own. Hwoarang wasn't as skilled with his hands as he was with his feet, but his adversary wasn't skilled at anything but bad breath and blind rage. Two sways and one block later, he slit the man's throat with ease. As blood gushed out of his the open wound like a second mouth, Hwoarang grabbed his slumping body and used it as a shield against the gunmen he'd escaped before. One took aim but he was caught flatfooted when Hwoarang chucked the knife. The blade flipped through the air before impaling the space between his eyes. With flailing arms, he went down pressing the trigger carelessly, blasting his partner beside him in the process. Hwoarang would snigger if the sound of a chainsaw didn't raze his ear at that precise moment.

He ducked as the sharp teeth sailed over his head, sawing into the wall behind him instead. While the aggressor was lodged in position, he ran, jumping over dead bodies sprawled on the living room floor. He headed for the front door but was closed off when another thug appeared out of nowhere aiming at his head. "Shit!" Panicked, he slipped in red ooze, falling ass-first as the man pulled the trigger. Missed. The clumsy mishap probably saved his life. As luck would have it, the gunman had to reload. Hwoarang spun on his heels and doubled back, only to be met by the chainsaw murderer. He fled up the staircase between the two of them. Another motherfucker appeared on the top landing. Hwoarang tackled him before he could get his shot off, gun tumbling out of grasp. They scuffled, rolling about, both trying to put the other out of commission long enough to retrieve the pistol, all whilst his other two compadres were racing up the staircase. Perhaps Hwoarang's desperation gave him the advantage. He landed the winning blow and scampered across the floor but as his fingers stretched for the gun, an unexpected hand picked it up.

Hwoarang threw his arms up as Asuka pointed the gun towards him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! You take me out and you'll never get out of here alive. You fucking hear me?" The stern look on her face did not waver. Russet orbs boiling with resentment. The crazy bitch would actually do it! "Hey, give me the –"

She pulled the trigger. Three times. Hwoarang blinked with each shot. And his eyes stayed shut after the last.

Suddenly, everything was quiet.

Hwoarang slowly turned around from his crouching position, hands still on his head, ears still ringing, and saw the three bodies of his pursuers laid to waste. "Holy fuck." He looked at Asuka as if she was a different person to the schoolgirl he'd kidnapped just hours ago. "For a second there, I really thought you were aiming to blow my head off."

Asuka shrugged. "Maybe I'm just a terrible shot."

Hwoarang chuckled. She didn't. All the humour drained from his face. "W-wait, you serious?"

…

Steve punched the thug so hard his neck twisted until it snapped. The thump of his fallen carcass echoed through the house. Heart beating out of his chest, Steve surveyed the area and noted he was the only man standing. Over a dozen corpses were strewn across the floor, slumped on stained furniture, dangling off tables and surfaces. Bloody hell, alright. This was usually the part he felt grateful to have his life. But today, his mind was on someone else's. He glanced over the bodies nervously, hoping a blonde schoolgirl wasn't amongst them. His search was interrupted before it started when the front door flew off its hinges. The silhouette of a bulking man consumed the passageway, blocking the light of day.

Steve sighed and put up his fists.

"Unfortunately for you," said Miguel, cracking his knuckles. "I'm having a really bad day."

He swung a wild fist. Steve ducked with ease. In the space it took the large man to hurl one strike, the seasoned boxer delivered a flurry of jabs to the midriff, twice as many as what took down many-a-opponent. Miguel only grunted in annoyance. He crashed his thick skull against Steve's. The blond doubled back as crimson streamed down his brow. A huge fist lifted the underside of his chin, throwing him over the kitchen bar counter. Steve rolled onto the floor with a groan. He blinked hard, double vision corrupting his stability. Of all the towering men and monsters he'd challenged in the ring, none had brought him down to his knees this way, let alone on all fours. It was only then he realised how much he missed the thrill of competition. He balled his fists, a smirk on his lips as large shoes stomped in his direction.

Miguel roared, shouldering his gut, pushing him up against the fridge. Steve had to remind himself this wasn't a sanctioned boxing match and no one would break apart the illegal move. A pity too; he fancied his chances against this lumbering wildling in a fair fight. Pinned between a rock and a hard place, Steve resorted to pounding on the man's back with fists and elbows. Miguel retaliated with a furious strike, missing Steve's face by a whisker, punching a dent into the fridge door instead. Steve used speed to his advantage, but while he weathered the wounds and bruises from fighting several cronies, his well-rested opponent exploded with energy. Before long, Steve was tackled and pinned to the ground, evading, guarding, and shimmying from a storm of earth-shattering fists. He was surviving by a thread. If he didn't find a way out of the situation – and fast – it would be the death of him. Nonetheless, all his strained faces and strenuous hip thrusts could not dismount the foe's considerable weight. Steve really thought it was it for him when a shriek whipped through the air, and suddenly, Lili was clinging onto Miguel's back and shoulders, frustrating the big man.

Boy was she ever a sight for sore eyes. While Miguel struggled to get the monkey off his back, Steve manoeuvred back to freedom. Lili rolled off the man's shoulders and joined Steve side by side. Her decision not to run perturbed him.

"Right. I appreciate the grand entrance and all," said Steve. "But I got this from here, love."

"Ha." Lili whipped her hair back. "That handsome face would be mincemeat if I hadn't stepped in. Allow me to handle this rhythm-less buffoon."

"Er, excuse me, weren't you the one hiding in a cupboard a second ago?"

"Well, guns, bats, knives, chainsaws against a defenceless schoolgirl – hardly a fair fight was it? But this," said Lili, scanning Miguel up and down. "Mano-a-mano, I can handle."

Steve was astounded she had the gall to say that to a man that looked capable of eating her whole for breakfast and having room to spare for seconds.

Miguel humphed. "I'm too much of a gentleman to lay hands on a lady, but you senorita, are no lady." He cracked his neck muscles left and right. "I'll crush you both."

He sought to make good on his promise, but Lili's quick and tricky feet were hard to pin down, even for Steve. She danced around his attacks like a ballerina, flipped and rolled her way out of trouble. Steve was hardly as flashy. They synchronised their offense but nothing less than a steamroller could stop an enraged Miguel. He punched and headbutted his way through walls and furniture. Most of his attacks missed but it only took one to send Steve flying through the front window and tumbling onto the lawn. Lili chased after him, crying out in concern. Miguel followed them onto the lawn as she tried to help a broken Steve back to his feet.

Lili held up a hand as if to tame the raring beast. "Stop. What is it you want? If it's money, I assure you –"

"Pah!" Miguel spat on the dirt. "I don't need you to make my money for me. What I want is what your boyfriend over there stole from me. What I want is to restore the pride of my family, avenge my faithful soldiers. What I want is his head. Step away now, little girl, and I may just forgive you."

Lili scowled at the barbarian. She refused to flee, even as Steve encouraged her to do just that. It was clear they were no match for this determined brute.

Miguel sighed. "If you insist…" He took one step towards them before a flying kick struck the side of his face, forcing him to stumble besides himself.

"Always gotta save your ass," said Hwoarang, joining Steve and Lili.

"About time you paid me back for the millions you owe me," said Steve.

"I'll give you a million nuts, how's that?"

"Fuck off. You don't have two to spare, wanker."

"That's not what your mom sa–"

"Guys!" exclaimed Lili. "Must you do this now? Look." She pointed over Hwoarang's shoulder.

Miguel didn't appreciate the footprint across his face. Seething, his shoulders rose and fell, flames flaring out his nostrils. The son of a bitch wouldn't go down.

Hwoarang, Steve and Lili tried to gather themselves, their advantage in numbers all but peripheral.

The grumble of an engine stole all their attention. Then Hwoarang's car pulled out of the driveway. "What the fuck?" The redhead shouted as Asuka drove past them and away from the scene. "Fuck's sake, that's my ride! Someone stop that bitch. The fucking box is in the trunk!" Hwoarang started running after the getaway car, its driver deaf to his pleas.

Upon hearing about the box, Miguel ran after it himself, shoving past Hwoarang on his way. Hwoarang, Steve and Lili, battered and fatigued, watched in amazement as Miguel chased the car up and beyond the hill.

"Crazy fucker," said Steve.

"Good riddance," said Hwoarang. "We need to get the fuck out of Dodge before the cops bust this joint."

No sooner had the words left his lips than a platoon of unmarked vehicles rolled up to the premises. Before any of them could so much as ask what the hell was going on, several black clad men jumped out, threw bags over Hwoarang and Steve's heads and tossed them into a van. Lili was dragged off into another car shrieking. Police sirens arrived at the scene seconds after. Seconds too late to find anything but absolute carnage.


End file.
